We used to be six.
Now we are three.
Three producers,
Three males,
Three actors,
Three ex wives,
We smile, we laugh, but
No longer six are we.
Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category
Un-scheduled
Posted in humor, poetry on May 23, 2012 | Leave a Comment »
My Google calendar has just notified me that I have no events scheduled today.
No scheduled events.
All my events today are unscheduled.
My dashboard dictionary defines an event as: “a thing that happens, esp. one of importance”.
Nothing of special importance is scheduled to happen today.
That doesn’t mean it won’t happen.
It will happen in it’s own time, at any time.
I like that.
Important things will happen randomly today.
Nice.
Keeping Score
Posted in animals, humor, poetry on February 3, 2011 | Leave a Comment »
Blurring burnt sienna
Rustling lavish leaves
Taunting tufted tail
Squirrel 4 – Pitbull 0
Winter Sunset
Posted in California, nature, poetry on December 8, 2010 | Leave a Comment »
Manhattan Beach, California
Palmtrees tall and short
In threes, alone greeting the Setting Sun
Birds low over the water
Sun nearly disappeared
Ship still, on the horizon
forever blue, Jude Law blue
wild sage honey sky
Lone Gull
faded charcoal islands
waves laughing, giggling up the pier
cloud swirls
melted smoke-wafting clouds
Blooms closing for the eve
Sun winks at me, thanks me for being
her witness today
of a grand job done well.
She’s gone,
an amber flare left in the clouds,
greys and greens veiling, fading,
a big river in the sky,
her path to tomorrow.
Moon Sliver winked and disappeared.
I peeked at the dawn this morning
and celebrated the finale,
relishing all the in-between of this day.
4:50pm.
One more hour on the parking meter.
Fingers chilled –
digit temperature dropping
a section at a time.
Nose running,
heart warm.
Honey rippled sky.
A very good day.
A View
Posted in California, dreams, humor, movies, poetry, travel on October 20, 2007 | Leave a Comment »
She stared at the side of the elegant church with its Spanish tile and the rosette stain glass window, the steeple rising up behind. It was no Sacré-Coeur, but it reminded her of it. She took in the hills just beyond with the observatory and the Hollywood sign. Just another evening after work. Someone across the world would kill for this view. Someone somewhere would catch their breath to think they were two miles from where the red carpet is laid for movie premieres and Oscars are presented.
A Mentor Nods
Posted in art, dreams, fierce, language, poetry, short story, theater, writing on June 1, 2005 | Leave a Comment »
“I liked your piece,” she said quietly with the power of a breeze on a stale day. She, the mother-teacher-mentor figure I ‘ve wanted from my own blood. I listen to every word, every example, drinking in, soaking every possibility of moving beyond my stuckness, my silence, my longing to live in that place.
“You start with voices, they are your base. You look for colors, depth, shadow. You leave it. come back, return, check a different angle, work some more — they speak and reveal themselves. You work a bit more. I like to have several projects at a time.” She shared.
“Like watercoloring. I took a workshop once and they said that’s what the masters did–worked on several things at once. As one dried and settled, they’d go to another piece.” I enthused.
“Yes, much like that.” She smiled. Her calm soaking into me.
I relished the idea of having many things going on at once sans the guilt of incompletion.
